Act Two
by HalfASlug
Summary: Draco is determined for today to be just another day and for everything else around him to play no part in second rate production that is his life. As the first act closes in a dramatic fashion that has the unlucky protagonist questioning everything and nothing, the second begins.


_Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and would be able to think of a funnier disclaimer than this one._

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For years now he had felt alone in crowds. As a child, he had thought himself superior to his classmates because he was a Malfoy and, in his eyes, there was nothing he would rather be. As his adolescence went on, he felt gradually more separate from everybody else in the room; he was destined for bigger things after all. His friends were nothing more than stepping stones and his dreams were bigger than his ego. Now, as an adult, he had become an outcast, mocked by those he had sought to join, rejected by the master he thought he had wanted and hated by those he always believed himself to be better than.

Today had been the worst for it though. Not only did he have to spend all day with crowds of people that he barely knew and, if he did know them, despised, but he was the centre of attention. Every eye in the house was on either him or his mother and Draco was bored of it.

He let the cold night air pass over him as he leant on the stone balcony and looked out into the grounds of what for so long had been his home. Clear as day, he could remember his last few months living here, when the manor had stopped being his childhood home and had become the place where his nightmares were real and there was no end in sight.

With every passing hour, he had hated himself more. At first, he had told himself that it was what he was being forced to do that was wrong but as the weeks dragged on and the body count grew, Draco couldn't hide from the fact that he was at best a spineless worm, living to do the bidding of others.

Before the war had ended, he was nothing more than a scared child who was a disappointment to his aunt, a reason to live for his mother and a liability to his father.

_His father._

That's what today had been all about. Mourning his father, or so they told him. If anything ,this was social gathering for the pureblood elite that had stayed in contact with his family or else had been won over by his parents' sickening displays of remorse in front of all the cameras after their trials. Today was just like those days, now Draco thought about it - being ushered into the foreground to be stared at by people who he didn't care about and being forced to act like he was_ supposed _to.

The funeral itself had been the easiest bit. Sit and face the front like a good boy. Listen to the man saying his words. Don't crack a smile.

There, on the front row, he couldn't see their faces and, even though he was in a crowded room, he felt alone. The painful part he was being made to play was on hiatus and he could be himself so he was.

When his family were asked if there was anything special they wanted to be done, Draco said nothing. When the imbecile at the front asked if anybody wanted to say anything, Draco said nothing. At the end, when they were told to "remember Lucius and what he meant to you", Draco thought of nothing.

He was staring at the box that contained his father's corpse and he couldn't think of anything. Not one fucking thing.

Things had gone bad between them long before the war had ended but it was only afterwards that Draco noticed how bad. During the build-up to the trials, his father had still tried to control his every thought but Draco was having none of it. Following his father's philosophies and advice had only led to the mess they were in and Draco had wanted out.

Not for the first time, Draco felt dead inside. Who the hell cared that little about the man who guided him through the formative years of his life that they could spend his funeral counting the panes of glass that made up the widows either side of them? He had spent the past three years trying to build himself back up, to stand out on his own, he was starting to think that no progress had been made. Just how fucked up was he anyway?

Draco laughed humourlessly. His father was dead, his mother a shell and somehow he had turned it around to be about himself, as he always did. Welcome to The Draco Malfoy Show.

Behind him, through the glass doors and heavy drapes that separated him from the others, the ones still fulfilling their roles as respectful mourners, Draco could hear them, talking, reminiscing and generally being boring. Something told him that no one was going to say the words 'Death Eater' or 'convict' or 'Didn't this man kill people for fun?' No, they would all be saying things about giving generously to various charities and being influential and a loving husband and – Draco snorted at the thought – a caring father.

It was the people insisting on telling him how _proud _his father had been of him that had driven Draco out onto the balcony. He was happy to let them have their charade and their little party but he didn't want to be a part of it. He was sick of them telling him how he was feeling, acting how he was supposed to act. There was no handbook, pamphlet or ministry approved guideline on how to handle the vacuum of emotion inside of him.

It didn't matter to him how many people were there, what music was played or who levitated the coffin. As for the flowers –_flowers – _he didn't give a flying fuck about the flowers. For all he cared, they could throw the bastard in a coffin made of galleons, a casket of his own greed, with a mirror on the underside of the lid, where he could forever be surrounded by the things that he had loved.

Or at least whatever the closest thing to love that Lucius Malfoy was capable of.

Why did people insist on apologising? What were they even apologising for? His dying? If anyone should be saying sorry, it should have been Lucius for living the way he did.

More than the apologising though, it was the advice Draco couldn't stand. He didn't need it. None of it was applicable. None of them knew him, none of them knew his father and none of them knew how he felt. So what if their father had died a few years back? It didn't mean they could relate.

The pain would not 'fade away' because it wasn't there.

It would not 'get easier' because it wasn't hard.

He would never want to 'talk about it' because there was nothing to discuss.

The man who had been dead to him for years was now dead to the rest of the world. It didn't affect him so they should all just leave him the fuck alone.

"Want a fag?"

Draco turned to see a woman in an elegant black dress and sleek brown hair next to him. To say he was shocked to see her would be putting it lightly; he hadn't even heard her heels on the stone floor. He had been too wrapped up in his own bitterness.

Trying to hide any signs of surprise, he looked down at the proffered cigarette before his gaze flicked to the door behind him.

"Don't panic," she smirked as his eyes found hers again, "your mother's downstairs."

Unwilling to prove her right but still in need of something to take the edge off today, Draco plucked the fag out of the packet and placed it between his mouth. As she lit it, he looked at her features in the flickering light of the flame and thought he vaguely recognised her from somewhere, possibly around the ministry or Hogwarts. She looked as though she could be a few years younger than him but something about the way she held herself told him that she was definitely out of school.

"Thanks."

Stood a couple of metres away from each other, they both turned back to the night sky and the darkened grounds in front of them as the wake carried on behind them. Draco took a long drag and immediately felt his head feel lighter. He let the view disappear as his eye lids slid shut and felt the smoke flow out of his nose. Smoking wasn't really his thing and he was glad this hadn't ended in a coughing fit like the first time he had tried it. Something told him that he didn't want to make fool of himself in front of this girl.

"Y'know Muggles have these too," she said suddenly. She spoke so suddenly that Draco wondered if she would've started speaking if he wasn't there with her.

"Really," he muttered. Thanks to an intensive Muggle Studies course he had had to attend after he was let off any prison time, Draco knew a lot more about Muggles than he ever wanted to. He didn't fancy a refresher course right this minute. Unfortunately, his less than interested demeanour wasn't enough to deter her.

"They're the same but they aren't flavoured like ours, smell rancid and cause deadly diseases."

Draco curled his lip before taking another drag. "Sounds lovely."

It was then that he realised that she had given him one of the chocolate flavoured fags and he was tempted to stamp it out because the sickly sweetness made his teeth itch. More than anything, he wanted to be left alone to his melodramatic monologue and selfish thoughts. If someone else was here, he had to be the grieving son that everyone expected and he was too tired for it.

"Oh, stop being so misunderstood."

"Excuse me?" Draco spluttered, turning to face her and was met with a disdainful expression.

"All the moping and the sarcastic replies?" she said in a supercilious tone. "It's boring."

"Sorry," spat Draco, "but today I think I'm allowed."

Wondering what this girl's problem was, Draco looked back out the grounds and wondered where the peacocks had gone; he hadn't seen them in years. For a moment, he felt a twinge of something close to missing over them not being around anymore. Of course, he would grieve for the peacocks, he thought, just not his father.

His moment was ruined by a snort of laughter to his right.

"You hated your father," the girl pointed out. Her confidence was a little discomforting.

"How do _you _know?" he shot at her. For once, his aggressive tone didn't seem to shock the person he was using it on. If anything, the girl seemed amused by it as she arched one thin eyebrow.

"Everybody knows the Draco Malfoy story," she said silkily.

"Yeah?" he challenged her, turning away from her again and hoping she'd take it as the dismissal it was. "Well, let me know how it ends."

Even though he wasn't looking at her, Draco could still sense her stood next to him, copying his stance of leaning on the wall in front of them. The air around her seemed to be warmer than the rest but, at the same time, freeze everything close to her. She was undoubtedly from one of the old families – her grace told him that much – but she didn't seem to be as arrogant as most them. Although she was definitely aware of the delusions of grandeur her name probably carried, she seemed supremely unbothered by it and everything else in the world.

Everything about her unnerved him and he just wanted her to go but there was no way that he would ever ask or leave himself. If it was a battle of wills she wanted, then that was what she would get.

Again, she didn't seem to be aware of the game she was playing or the gauntlet she had thrown down. Instead, she just carried on staring into the darkness, casually smoking her cigarette.

"I don't know how it ends," she eventually said, breaking the silence around them. "I'm more interested in the middle part of his character arc." She took another drag and Draco gripped the stone in front of him tighter. "Y'know? The part where he is both pleased and horrified to discover that his father's death hasn't affected him?"

The words had barely settled before Draco had snapped his head in her direction. She seemed unfazed by the movement and looked thoughtfully out into the night. "Not one bit," she added at almost a whisper, as though she didn't care if he was listening.

"It's the confirmation he's been waiting for that he really did feel nothing for him and wasn't just being a petulant child."

His mouth was dry and his hands, if he was still attached to them, were clammy. He stared at her profile, wondering where the fuck she was getting this from.

Suddenly, she turned to look right at him, her eyes, scorching his. "But doesn't that just make him as cold and unfeeling as his father was?"

An all-knowing fire danced in her irises until suddenly it was gone. She leaned back a little and looked away, breaking the intensity.

"Either way, as far as he is concerned, it's over," she continued with a shrug, or at least something similar to a shrug. She didn't seem capable of movements as blasé as shrugging. "He sees no point in a funeral for a man he had already said goodbye to. In fact, he is only here because he has to be."

Again, her eyes were back on him, searching, taking in every detail to put together her story. Draco couldn't begin to think of a sarcastic response, let alone defend himself, lest he give even more away than he apparently already had.

"He took no part in the planning of it all, despite his mother asking his opinion every step of the way," she smirked mockingly. "The whole thing just makes him so _angry_ - the organising, the formalities, the pretending to give a shit…

"He had already walked away. He wanted nothing more to do with him, hadn't done for a while, but still… He plans to enjoy his inheritance-" her gaze lingered on the new ring that adorned Draco's finger. He hastily shoved his hand into his robe pocket and she smiled, her theory confirmed. "If he convinces himself that it's compensation for an adolescence ruined then maybe it won't feel like another hand-out."

Draco swallowed and hoped she didn't notice. The wake was long forgotten, his mother's anguish a thing of the past…

"More than the relief that the whole ordeal is over and the guilt over feeling nothing for the man who, whether he liked it or not, raised him and with whom he shares more similarities than he will ever admit, he's scared," said quietly as she started slowly walking over to him, like a lion and its prey.

It didn't seem to matter how hard Draco cleared his mind and applied all the other techniques his aunt had taught him, Occlumency wasn't working. She was somehow reading him like a book. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing his true self for the first time. If she didn't stop now, then what would be left of him?

"If he fucks up now," she whispered no louder than the soft breeze, "there's no Daddy to save him and, more importantly, no one to blame."

She stopped, _finally_ stopped, advancing when she was directly in front of him, so close that he could feel her breath on his face. Surely from this distance, she would be able to hear his frantic heart?

"You," she breathed, "are not nearly as complicated as you think, Draco."

Involuntarily, Draco felt his eyes flicker to her dark red lips and cursed himself for wanting to do what he was about to. This woman wasn't what he wanted and definitely wasn't what he needed.

Knowing he may as well sign his own death sentence, Draco made a snap decision to give into temptation but, before he could, she twitched her eyebrows and he flinched. A taunting smile playing in her lips, the girl laughed softly and Draco chastised his stupidity.

Whether it was disaster averted or an opportunity missed, he would decide later.

The moment was officially ended by her, as she stepped back and coughed slightly. Draco felt air rush back into his lungs and only then did he realise that he had been holding his breath.

The playful gleam still shining in her eyes, the girl adopted a deliberately sombre expression that contained too much mirth to be genuine.

"Sorry," she almost pouted. "I mean – sorry for your loss."

She gave him a patronising pat on the shoulder and turned to leave, purposefully swinging her hips because she knew he'd be watching.

It wasn't until she had reached the door, flicked her cigarette to the floor and had started to open it that Draco eventually found his voice.

"You're Daphne's little sister, aren't you?"

Finally, he appeared to have shocked her. She halted her progress and stayed stock still for a couple of achingly long seconds, but then she looked over her shoulder with an unreadable smile and Draco knew that she was probably still mocking him.

"Only if you're Lucius' son."

And without another word, she slipped through the door and back into the wake.

Draco blinked, unsure as to what the fuck had just happened. He became aware that his right hand felt very warm and he looked to see that his fag had burnt right down to the filter. Swearing under his breath, he shook his hand and watched the ash fall the ground and crumble to dust on impact.

One of the few things that Draco's father had taught him that he had kept with him until now had been that the things that you thought threatened to destroy you were probably the things best kept close at hand. Thinking that his father, for all of his faults and wrong-doings, was probably right on this one, Draco made his way back inside, no longer feeling as alone as he had ten minutes ago.

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_Thanks for reading :)_


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